


Awake in Peace

by PippaZen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-05-07 06:24:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19203715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PippaZen/pseuds/PippaZen
Summary: Harry had his moment to consider his options after death. Why shouldn't everyone else? What did they see in those first moments?





	1. The Godfather

He had been falling. The sensation still teased his nerves, despite the fact that he was clearly not moving. Hard floor numbed his bare back, although he must not have been laying there long enough to become stiff. His eyelids fluttered open to see nothing but whiteness pressing in around him. It was disorienting to not be able to see anything; he’d always imagined that being blind would mean the world was black. But no, he could see himself when he looked down. His very naked self. He sat bolt upright, promptly smashing his forehead into something heavy.

“Very graceful, Padfoot.”

Even with his head aching and a fierce ringing in his ears, he would know that voice anywhere. Out of nowhere, the object he had collided with became visible; he was underneath a table. Wooden chairs slid into view around him, emerging from the surrounding whiteness as if they’d been painted on canvas. The chair by his right shoulder was occupied. He ducked his head out from under the table to peer up into James Potter’s grinning face. James tossed something into his lap. “Put some trousers on. It’s rude to rub your bare arse all over the floor.”

Sirius scrambled to pull on the simple white drawstring slacks, still yanking them on over his hips as he crawled out from under the table and stood up to loom over his best friend. James looked exactly like the last time he’d seen him. Merlin’s beard, he’d forgotten how _young_ James had been when he’d died. He was only a handful of years older than Harry.

Harry. Sirius’ head whipped around, half expecting to still see the battle raging around him as his last memories flooded back. Where was Harry? Was he alright? 

“Hey, you should sit down before you hurt yourself.” James reached over and pulled out the chair next to him. “We should probably talk about what’s happening.”

Those words brought him back to his current reality, whatever that meant. With his heart still racing in his chest, he took in the room as he lowered himself into the chair, wondering why he hadn’t recognized it right away. He had spent a year here after running away from home, often sitting at this very table while Euphemia Potter bustled around the kitchen, not the least bit concerned that she’d temporarily taken on a second son. Finally, he returned his gaze to the young, tousle-haired man sitting next to him.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?”

Some of the smile left James’ face. “You are.”

Any excitement he’d felt about seeing his best friend faded. “Prongs, I left him. I’m so sorry, I was supposed to be there for Harry, and now…”

“You were there for him, Padfoot. You were there for him more than I was able to be. I think it’s good he had you, even for just a little while.” James leaned over and placed one hand on Sirius’ knee, offering a comforting squeeze. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Sirius ran his fingers back through his hair, unconsciously in imitation of how James used to do it in his younger years. “I don’t even know how good I was for him. Sometimes I was so caught up in my own head. Molly had the right of it, even if I didn’t want to admit it to her. I tried to treat Harry almost as a son, but sometimes… sometimes I treated him like you. He looks so much like you. What if he resents me now that I’m gone? What if he only remembers my mistakes?”

“You’re only human. My boy really has a lot more of Lily in him; he’ll understand, even if it’s not right away.”

“Have you had some time to grow up after death?” Sirius chuckled in spite of himself. “This is some mature talk coming from you.”

James grinned and leaned back in his chair. “I was always this mature. You’ve just finally grown up enough to see it.”

It was like they were sixteen again, living under the same roof. Everything felt safe here. What could be wrong in this house filled with wonderful people? He looked fondly at the hideous teapot Fleamont had bought for Euphemia, covered in lurid pink unicorns because supposedly she had loved both the color and the animal. Euphemia had never quite been able to finish out a complaint about it without smiling. Teenage James often followed up those tender moments by loudly declaring that his parents were too disgustingly sweet for their own good.

“So, what exactly is this? Why are we here?”

James shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know where ‘here’ is. This looks different for everyone. What do you see?”

“Your parents’ kitchen.”

Twisting in his chair, James looked around and seemed to finally see the room. “Really? Interesting, it might have to do with it feeling like home, or being important during a transition in your life. I’m no great shake at psychology though, so maybe it just means you’re really into baking.” They both laughed. “But really, this place is just a temporary step. From here you can decide what you want to do next, whether it’s moving on or going back to be all pearly white and transparent.”

“You moved on?”

“I did.”

“But you’re able to be here now?”

James waggled one hand in front of himself. “In a manner of speaking. This is partly me, and partly your memory of me. Don’t ask me how it works. It’s real enough, though.”

“Do you get to be with Lily, wherever you are?”

A lopsided smile touched his friend’s lips. “In a way. It’s different, but again, it’s real. It’s not like this, where we’re sitting and talking. It’s just a feeling.”

_If I were a ghost, I could go back and help Harry._ But would that really be for Harry, or for himself? Underneath the fear for his godson when he’d learned that Harry and his friends had gone to the Ministry, part of him had thrilled at the notion of being back in action. It was exhilarating to duel and feel like he was doing _anything_ important. “If I went back,” he said slowly, tracing his finger along the criss-cross pattern in the tablecloth, “it would have to be entirely for Harry. There’s nothing else for me back there. Remus is a grown man and will get by without his childhood friend. I wasn’t much use to the Order at the end. They’ll defeat Voldemort with or without me. Harry was the only one who needed me. But… I don’t think he needs me as a ghost. What would I do, follow him everywhere?” James chuckled at that. “Maybe I’d be helpful for another few years, where he could really benefit from a father figure, but I’d outgrow that usefulness before too long. And when he died, I would just continue to exist like that.”

“Not as easy of a decision as it seems at first, eh?”

He wiped one hand over his face. “It is, actually. I need to move on. Besides, I would really like to be part of his welcoming committee when he finally dies, which is hopefully many years in the future. Then we have the rest of existence to be close in whatever way happens next.” Tears welled in his eyes. He impatiently brushed them away, shooting James a glare as if it were his fault. “I don’t even have a real body, how the bloody hell can I cry?”

James shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth even as some tears of his own gathered. “You were also completely starkers on my mum’s sparklingly clean floor. You’re real enough for this place.”

“In that case, why didn’t you send someone prettier? I could be putting this temporary state into good use.”

“Am I not pretty enough for you?” James batted his eyelashes, eliciting a snort from Sirius. 

“I’d rather have a go with your mum’s teapot.” Both of them burst out laughing; James pounded one fist on the table as he shook. Sirius felt like he could never get enough of seeing that face again. It was strange to feel nostalgia for a person sitting immediately next to him. Bringing his breathing back under control, he shook his head. “Merlin’s beard, it is good to see you. The world just isn’t right without you in it.”

“I left that good of an impression, eh? I suppose I was rather wonderful.”

“Ah, I forgot about the big head.”

“All the better to fit my enormous brain.”

“We all know Lily did all the thinking for you.”

“That’s ridic-- alright that’s actually true.”

Sirius glanced at the door which would have led to the backyard, although he wasn’t sure if it led anywhere right now. “I’m a little surprised she didn’t come with you for this. I would have liked to see her.”

James held up both hands as if in self defense. “I don’t make the rules. I don’t know them, either, come to think of it. I’m just here. I’m sure she’d love to be here, though. You two got on pretty well once we’d all stopped being proper teenage dungbrains. I swear she wrote to you every week when we had to go into hiding.”

“Maybe she just needed someone intelligent to talk to.”

“Don’t be daft, she had Harry for that.”

A few more chuckles escaped him, but Sirius could feel something undefinable and heavy settling into his very bones. They couldn’t stay here much longer. As unspeakably wonderful as it was to sit and laugh with his best friend after so many years, it was time for something new. “So, how do we do this?”

James looked around again. “It’s up to you. Anything that seems like it’ll take you onward should do it.”

Sirius’ eyes went to the backyard door again. “Then I guess we’re going outside.” He rose to his feet first, his fingers tingling with trepidation even as he knew he was doing what he needed to. Almost of its own accord, his hand reached out for James’. “Walk with me, Prongs?”

James stood with him and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Of course, Padfoot.”

The doorknob was warm in his grasp when they reached it. Without hesitation, he turned it and pulled the door open, light bathing both of their faces. Together, inseparable as they had always truly been, they stepped outside.


	2. The Headmaster

Why was everything so bright? Not just bright, _white_. The last color he had seen was green. But no, there was green here. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, trying to adjust to the light. He couldn’t tell if the light was blinding him, or if the world was actually materializing around him. 

The green turned out to be grass. As if seeing it awoke his other senses, he could now feel the blades tickling his skin, still covered in heavy droplets of dew. With his skin now actually detecting the grass, he realized that it was touching him _everywhere_.

“Oh, how improper.” His voice bubbled out of him in a surprisingly cheerful manner, considering the memories that were already coming back to him. Something brushed against his right hand, and he looked over to find two quite unexpected things: neatly folded robes, and his own perfectly healthy hand. He pushed himself up to sit in the grass, barely able to pull on the robes with how distracted he was by staring at his functional fingers. Why shouldn’t they be fine? Certainly a curse would not follow him into death.

With energy and agility he hadn’t felt for many years, he shifted into a crouch and stood straight up, not even grunting with the effort. He felt like he could run for miles. He brushed off the robes, mildly amused that they were able to get dirty here. 

The world continued to grow clearer around him. As soon as the wooden swing appeared before him, all exhilaration drained from his body. Perhaps there were many swings like it in the world, but this was his death, which meant there was only one swing this could be. Immediately, a house appeared through the light behind the ancient tree that supported the swing. The back door and all of the window frames were painted a brilliant violet, his mother’s favorite color. Ariana’s favorite color. No sooner had he thought her name than the door opened.

“Hi, Albus.” She smiled at him, as beautiful and innocent as he remembered her. Aberforth had always teased her that drawings of angels had been created with her in mind. Albus couldn’t help but agree as he drank in everything he could see of her. Her hair flowed freely around her shoulders, even more golden when contrasted against the white that was still receding to reveal the rest of his surroundings. She was wearing her favorite robes: lavender with sparkling silver stars. She had always loved colorful robes.

“Ariana.” He could barely manage more than a whisper. How could she smile at him? He deserved nothing of this sweetness. 

She pulled the door closed behind her and swayed as she walked to the swing, her robes rippling around her as if she walked through water. How had he forgotten her walk? It was as if she could hear music that nobody else could. She could almost be dancing. Still smiling, she paused next to the swing and looked over at him. “I’ve missed you, big brother.”

Those words were enough. Tears poured down his cheeks as he closed the gap between them, gathering her into her arms and clutching her against him as though she might disappear at any moment. She still fit so perfectly in his embrace. Her arms circled him to rest against his back, patting him as one might a small child.

“Your beard tickles,” she commented, her head firmly planted somewhere in the middle of it.

He laughed and cupped one hand to the back of her head. He bent to plant a single kiss on her forehead before releasing her so he could take in the sight of her again. “I’ve worked on it for many years.”

She gave it a playful tug before climbing onto the swing. “Push me?”

“Of course.” He positioned himself behind her, pulling back on the ropes to get her momentum started. A few pushes got her going in a comfortable arc. “How is this?”

“Perfect!” she gasped as her hair fluttered behind her. She had never liked to go too high, but still loved to be on her swing. In his mind’s eye, he could see the invisible line he’d always used to determine how high she could go. They stayed like this in silence for a few minutes, her hair blowing around her as he continuously made micro-adjustments to how hard he pushed, always keeping her around the same level.

Finally, she dragged her heels on the ground to slow her movements. When she had slowed enough that he knew the disruption wouldn’t send her toppling off, he firmly grabbed the rings on either side of the swing, bringing her entirely to a halt. She twisted gracefully in her seat, sliding up one leg so that her foot rested on the wood. “So you know where we are?”

His right hand lifted to toy with a lock of her hair while his left held one of the ropes to her swing to prevent it from moving on her as she shifted. “It looks like our home in Godric’s Hollow, although I imagine it’s actually a construct of my imagination as I transition to death. Am I right?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re always right, Albus.”

He chuckled. “Not always.” His breath felt trapped in his lungs, but he knew he needed to ask. There might not ever be another opportunity to find out. “Do you know… do you know which of us did it?”

His blue eyes had always twinkled in amusement or enthusiasm; hers twinkled in sadness. “No. Everything happened so fast. I don’t think it mattered.” When her words clearly brought him back to the edge of tears, she reached up and covered the hand that was holding her swing steady with her own. “I know it matters to you, but it was an accident; nobody meant to hurt me. Not even him.”

When had this sweet child learned to speak like an adult? “I am so terribly sorry. I would give anything for you to have been able to live your life fully. Is it better for you now? Do you hurt anymore?”

She motioned to his right hand, which still played with her hair. “No. Things don’t hurt here. At least not physically. But you’re hurting inside, and it’s not just about me.”

He steadily met her gaze. He owed her that much, no matter how much the pain made him want to look away. “I worry about what I’ve done to my friends who are still alive. There is someone I have hurt very much.” The look on Severus’ face was practically etched on the inside of his skull. That brave man, the man he was proud to call friend, had sacrificed everything in that instant. They both knew that he was giving up the life he had built at Hogwarts, at least as he knew it, and throwing away any chance of redemption among the Order, despite having served it so faithfully. Even until that final moment, Albus was not sure Severus would be able to do it. He did not doubt because he thought Severus weak; he doubted because his friend loved so deeply. 

“Someday you can apologize to him. He probably knows already.”

“Listen to you, comforting the old man your brother has become.” He couldn’t help smiling at her. “So much has happened since I last saw you. The world has changed many times over. Both of your brothers have changed.”

“But that’s good. Mum always said things shouldn’t stay the same.”

His eyes flickered toward the house, half expecting Kendra to step out. “She was very wise. It was her research on what had happened to your magic that helped an old friend of mine find a cure.” Newt’s work on healing children that had developed an Obscurus was lesser known than his many writings on magical creatures, but no less important to him… or to Albus.

Ariana popped off the swing to stand next to him. “Then I helped.” Her eyes were serious as she looked up at him. “I’m supposed to give you a choice now, though I don’t think you need to hear it.”

“Ah, so you don’t think I’d make a good ghost? I have a very fine beard for the part.”

She giggled, pushing the mass of white hair slightly so that it swayed in the breeze. “You’d be a very annoying ghost, always telling people how to do things right.”

“Imagine how much more I could learn over hundreds of years to become an even more insufferable know-it-all.” He embraced her as she laughed again, relishing the solidness of her against him. While he didn’t know what was coming next, he somehow doubted that he would be able to hug his sister like this again. “But, as you say, I don’t need to hear the options. I am coming with you.” The last words were spoken directly into her hair, slightly muffling them.

After a few more moments of closeness, she stepped back and held out her hand for him to take. He took it with his right, wordlessly following her to the house. She paused as they reached the back door, her hand hovering over the handle. Her smile was serene as she glanced back at him. “Ready?”

He squeezed her hand gently. “Extremely.”

Still smiling, she pushed the door open and, hand in hand, they entered the house.


	3. The Elf

His hands clutched at his own chest as the whiteness pressed in around him, expecting to feel _something_ there, but no, there was nothing but his own skin, whole and unmarred. Hadn’t there been pain? Hadn’t someone been saying his name? The memories felt as though they were on the other side of a wall. His eyes struggled to focus on anything, to make the whiteness something more substantial that he could understand.

Out of the light, the dim outline of a face appeared above him. Yes, someone was still saying his name. It had been Harry Potter, he remembered with a jolt. Harry had been holding him and saying his name. Even as he remembered, green eyes came into focus before him, eyes just like Harry’s. Except this was not Harry Potter.

“Hello, Dobby,” said the woman looking down at him, a sad smile on her lips. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

Blinking, he sat up and quickly caught at the blanket that she must have laid over him. Another voice came from the white haze behind her. “Here, we thought you would like these.”

With a soft _whumph_ , a pile of clothes landed next to him. Even through his confusion, he was thrilled to see how colorful they were, boldly displaying every color of the rainbow in a way that would have infuriated Winky. The woman politely turned so that he could pull them on. When he looked up again from admiring the wild clash of colors adorning his bony body, a man had materialized next to the woman, and this man was much more familiar. The woman’s eyes made sense to him now.

“You are Harry Potter’s parents,” he gasped in awe. 

The grin that split across James Potter’s face was just like his son’s. “That’s us. Glad to see he made such a good impression on you.”

But if these were Harry Potter’s parents… everything came rushing back to him. The Malfoy mansion, the knife, Harry’s eyes hovering above his as the darkness rushed in. Lily Potter knelt next to him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “You were so important to Harry. Everything you did for him means the world to us.”

“Dobby didn’t always do a good job, miss.” He felt suddenly shy with her blatant display of affection, unsure if he deserved it at all.

James snorted. “Rubbish, you did great. You worked around every obstacle in your way to help someone you believed in. Not many people can say they’ve done the same.”

As they spoke, the world grew clearer around them all, until Dobby realized that they were standing in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. How many times had he cleaned this room when the other house elves abandoned it, angered by Hermione Granger’s many attempts at knitting their way to freedom? He had come to love this room through those long hours. For never being a student at Hogwarts, the Gryffindor common room felt more like home to him than anywhere he’d ever actually lived.

“Not to be rude, sir and miss, but…” Dobby could hardly believe he was daring to question the parents of his favorite person in the world. “But why is Dobby here?” Considering his memories and the fact that he was talking to the Potters, he knew what must have happened during those last moments where he could see Harry’s eyes, where his own life must have been ebbing away. But that did not explain why the Potters were here with him.

“Where is ‘here’, Dobby?” Lily asked, still holding his shoulder.

“The Gryffindor common room, miss.”

Both Lily and James perked up at that and looked around. The more their faces lit up, the more he suspected that they hadn’t been able to see it until he named it. “Bloody hell, they still have that corner table,” James laughed, walking over to the rickety wooden table that sat near one of the windows. Dobby was more accustomed to seeing it piled high with Hermione’s homework. It was her favorite place to work. “How many times did Sirius and I break this thing?”

“Enough that it’s probably more magic than wood,” Lily replied, rolling her eyes. 

“A house elf made it smart enough to fix itself, miss,” Dobby whispered. “Dobby broke it once, too, and it put itself back together.”

It was her turn to laugh, still raptly taking in every detail of the firelit room around her. Finally, her smile turned back to him. “To actually answer your question, Dobby, you are here because you get to make a choice. You can go back to the world of the living, in a way, or you can go on.”

“Go back… like a ghost?” The words sounded foreign even as they left his lips. “But Dobby has never heard of a ghost house elf.”

James lowered himself into a poofy chair just to Dobby’s left. “They’re not common, no. We don’t know how these decisions get made. All we know is that you get to make the choice, and because you and Harry meant so much to each other, we are here to be with you for it.”

His face flushed and his eyes dropped anxiously to his own toes, brightly colored in their lurid socks. “Harry Potter was very important to Dobby, sir, but Dobby does not think he was very important to Harry Potter. Dobby _should not_ have been important, sir.”

The man uttered a few choice words that made Lily practically hiss his name. With a quick, apologetic gesture to his wife, he turned back to Dobby. “Dobby, you put a face to what he meant to the world. People came up to him all the time to thank him or just have a moment with him, so he knew he was famous, but you made him realize that his fame came from something deeper, something that resonated with people and beings he’d never met and might never meet. You were willing to do anything to protect him, a boy who by all the rules of your servitude, you should never have even spoken to. You went against _everything_ that you were told to do and what you were told to be, because he represented hope, and that was something he didn’t really understand before. Your bravery both kept him safe and helped him grow. I think this room is the perfect place for you.”

Dobby blinked as he tried to figure out what that meant. “Because Dobby cleaned it, sir?”

James snorted briefly before shaking his head. “No, because it is the living space of people who have bravery inside of them, and most of the people who have lived here can only hope to be as brave as you’ve been.”

“It’s also probably a little because you cleaned it.” Lily held up something that looked very much like one of Hermione’s early attempts at a hat, confusion evident in her expression as she turned it over a few times, trying to determine what it was. “It has meaning to you, personally.”

“So Dobby can choose to be a ghost or go to what is next?” The Potters both nodded. “Well, that is easy, miss and sir. Dobby is a free elf, and being a ghost is not very free. Dobby wants to start something new, free from the start.” Even as a spoke, he noticed a stairwell where there had not been one before. The stairwells to the girls’ and boys’ dormitories were in their proper locations; this was something new, directly between them. Lily and James followed his gaze.

“We’ll follow your lead, Dobby.” Lily rocked back on her heels, giving him space to turn and look around himself once more. Behind him, the portrait hole stood open, but he knew with a certainty he didn’t understand that going through that door would take him back, back to the world he already knew. No, that was not where he wanted to go. Drawing himself up to his full height -- not quite even with Lily’s crouched stature -- he began to walk towards the new stairwell. He did not look back; he could hear footsteps well enough to let him know that Lily and James were right behind him. 

It was not possible to see up the stairs; his eyes would not focus beyond the first step. He took one final look up at both of Harry’s parents, seeing bits and pieces of the boy who had held him during his final breath, before looking onward and taking his first, decisive step into the unknown.


	4. The Prankster

His laughter rang into the emptiness around him. Why was he laughing? The joy of it still filled him, the pleasant surprise that had spurred his mirth. What had happened? Sprawled awkwardly on his back, he propped himself up onto his elbows, trying to make out anything around him. He couldn’t tell if everything was glowing too brightly for him to make out his surroundings or if there was truly nothing to see beyond the white. Laughter still burst out of him in small huffs as he blinked and squinted.

One moment, all was white, and the next, everything snapped into focus around him. He was on the floor behind the register at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. “Oh bloody hell!” he gasped as his nudity became apparent. If anyone came into the shop and found him starkers, George would murder him, never mind what Mum would do when she found out. His brilliantly orange robes were slung over the top of the counter; he seized them and pulled them on so quickly that he might have done so by magic.

Now that his laughter had finally ceased, the silence of the shop was oppressive. Even when there weren’t customers, he was used to some level of noise as George and Verity worked, or as some of their inventory rattled around of its own accord. Nothing was moving now. He stepped around the counter and lightly touched a box of Decoy Detonators, unnerved that it didn’t so much as shudder in response. The detonators were normally very irritated by being touched.

“My shop isn’t supposed to be _creepy_ ,” he grumbled, backing away from the silent box.

Behind him, he heard the faint fluttering of parchment. He whirled around, half-expecting someone to be standing there holding whatever he’d heard, but there on the floor… He knelt to pick up the tattered parchment that lay, blank and still, on the floorboards. He’d know this old piece of parchment anywhere: the Marauder’s Map. Fumbling in his pockets, he realized that he didn’t have his wand anywhere on his person. How was he supposed to activate the map?

As if it had heard his thoughts, ink spread across the surface of the map in graceful curls and lines, but instead of Hogwarts, it very quickly drew a replica of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. There he was, his name printed in elegant cursive just over the tiny pair of feet by the main counter. But he was not alone. His head snapped in every direction, trying to spot the three people the map said were on the upper landing: Messrs Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. It occurred to him that Moony was missing, but that did not concern him as much as the fact that the others were apparently here.

Nobody was there. The upper landing remained stubbornly empty. When his eyes returned to the map, some of the upper landing had faded to make room for the writing that was now there.

_Your head will twist off if you keep doing that. You can’t see us._

None of this made any sense. Why was he here at all? Why was the map showing him his own shop? The last thing he remembered was laughing at Percy’s joke, pleasantly surprised that his stuffy older brother actually had a sense of humor. His stomach dropped as the memories returned. He couldn’t recall what exactly had happened, but considering where he’d been and the strange circumstances he found himself in now, he could make a guess. “So I guess I snuffed it, eh?” he asked the map. If it could see him, it could hear him.

New writing appeared as the first words faded away. _Afraid so._

Fred looked around at his eerily quiet shop. “So what is this? What am I doing here? What are _you_ doing here?”

Nearly all of the map of his shop disappeared to make room for the next words. _This is a rest stop. A place to catch your breath, really. From here, you can decide to go on, or to go back. And as for what we’re doing here, well, you are both the lucky and unfortunate first person to die among the people you care about. If you’d lost any close friends or family first, they’d be here with you for this. We’re the closest you’ve got, mate._

“I assume when you say ‘go back’ that I wouldn’t actually be alive? I’d be all pearly white?” The map hastily sketched a hand giving the thumbs up. Fred mulled this over, folding and unfolding the edges of the map as he thought. George was still back there, fighting the Death Eaters. Everyone he loved was there. How could he go on without any of them? Here, in the silence of the shop he’d created with his brother, the truth pressed against him like a physical weight; he’d never been alone. Everything in his life had been done with George, at the very least, if not half his damn family. If he went on, not only would that be entirely his own decision, but he’d be leaving George behind, who had similarly never been on his own. But what would he really gain by going back? That would only give him a little more time with his twin, unless he also chose to become a ghost when he died.

“Where exactly is Moony, if three of you are here?”

_Still alive._

“Wait, then who is he? Who are you?” He and George had always assumed the creators of the map were long gone. They’d even suspected that Godric Gryffindor had created it. After all, he clearly liked to make sentient objects, if the Sorting Hat were any indication.

Three artfully-drawn creatures appeared on the map in a vertical line: a rat, a dog, and a stag. All three gave him a cheery sort of wave, or at least the rat and dog did. The stag gave an odd little shake of its head that Fred interpreted as a greeting. _Our names come from our Animagus forms. Moony is a werewolf._

“The only werewolves I know of are Greyback and Lupin…” his voice trailed off as his eyes focused on the dog. “Hell, are you bloody serious?”

The dog wagged its tail as writing appeared next to it. _That is what my parents named me, yes._

A startled laugh burst from him, and once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop. His entire body shook with it as he cackled, filling the shop with the echoes. As if they’d been waiting for this, the various products in the shop began to come to life, resuming their normal clicking and restless activities. The box of Decoy Detonators clattered at Fred’s elbow as its contents sought to climb out. 

Wiping tears of laughter from his face, Fred looked back at the parchment. “Alright then, so if Lupin is Moony and Sirius is Padfoot, then Wormtail is… oh bloody hell, are you telling me we had a Marauder hiding out in our house for years? That was bloody disgusting, that was. Everything he must have seen, living with Percy and Ron.” He shuddered involuntarily. He couldn’t help giving the rat a hard glare.

The rat’s tail swished fiercely back and forth. _Don’t burn the parchment or anything. We’re the personalities put in the map, not the actual people._

That made sense, he supposed. To take his mind off of it, he turned to the stag. “So I guess that leaves James?”

Another head waggle from the stag. _That’s me. Love the shop, by the way. Brilliant, turning this into a living._

“It was George’s idea.” His brother’s name nearly cracked as it left his lips. “I was always making things and coming up with new pranks, but George thought we could do something useful with all of it. He had the better head for business.”

Would George keep running the shop without him? Would he even survive the battle at Hogwarts? Fred supposed he was counting his dragons before they hatched; the battle wasn’t over. Who knew how many people he loved would join him shortly? His eyes unfocused from the parchment, leaving the animals drawn on the surface as only vague blurs. One thing was now very clear to him: he did not want to leave any of his family to go through this without someone waiting for them. He would not let them be as alone in this as he felt. 

“So, er, what’s actually next? If I go on, what’s there?”

All three creatures disappeared from the page, to be replaced by positively massive letters. _Forever. Forever is there._

“And you’re all together there?”

_In a way._

That would have to be enough. Forever with his loved ones, whenever they joined him… that didn’t sound bad at all. What was a short wait before forever? Fred straightened the collar of his robes. “And just how much mischief can I manage there?”

_You’ll see._

Without asking, Fred knew where to go. It was as though the street beyond the shop’s door was calling to him. While this was his shop, he knew it would not be Diagon Alley out there. He clapped his hands together and folded the map up into his pocket as he started for the door. “Well then, let’s go see how much trouble I can get into before Mum shows up.”

His laughter still echoed through the shop as he shoved the door open and stepped out into the light beyond.


	5. The Metamorphmagus

It’s an alarming thing, to be mid-battle one moment, then nude and blind in the next. “You utter bitch!” she shouted, trying to squint through the blinding white around her, legs and arms still braced in her dueling stance. Where had her wand gone? She was certainly going to need it to blast Bellatrix into the tiniest pieces imaginable. What had Bellatrix gone and done, anyway? She had never experienced a curse like this before. And where in the name of Merlin’s sweaty pants were her bloody robes?

Some of the floor came into focus; she was standing on regular floorboards, not the stone of Hogwarts. Her hip bumped into something as she took a tentative step, wondering if walking around would bring more of her surroundings into view. Fully prepared from her battle to begin swearing at the slightest provocation, she found herself insulting the entire ancestral line of… a table. Thankfully, her Auror robes were folded neatly on the corner she’d struck. She pulled them on, patting down the pockets to feel for her wand, but it was nowhere to be found. 

_I don’t think I’m at Hogwarts,_ she thought as the room began to expand around her. Indeed, this was not Hogwarts. Last she remembered, she’d been charging up the staircase to the third floor, chasing down Bellatrix as they sprinted towards the Charms corridor. She vaguely recalled the glint in the other woman’s eyes as she whirled around to face her pursuer, framed by the firelight at the top of the staircase. 

When the room snapped entirely into focus, her mother would have hexed her silly for the stream of foul language that issued from her mouth. There was no good reason for her to be in Number 12 Grimmauld Place. No good reason at all, unless reason was not something she could count on. Unless she were no longer in a world where reason mattered.

“Kiss yer mum with that mouth?”

Well, that answered it. “Go suck on a flobberworm, Mad-Eye,” she snapped, not bothering to look at the stooped figure who limped into the room behind her. 

His low chuckle did nothing to improve her mood. “Yeh might want to sit down, lass. We’ve things to discuss.”

She could not bring herself to turn to face him. “That bitch killed me, didn’t she?”

“‘Fraid so. If it helps, yeh slowed her down. Otherwise she would have killed two students who were fightin’ Yaxley. Their backs were to her. When the two of yeh fought, it gave them time to take cover.”

“Who?” she hissed. Did it matter? She didn’t know anymore.

“Hannah Abbott and Neville Longbottom.”

The names were vaguely familiar to her. They were on the list of Dumbledore’s Army, which most of the Order of the Phoenix had memorized after Dumbledore’s death. After all, those were the students who would most likely need rescue from Hogwarts once the Death Eaters took over the school.

Fire roared to life in the dining room fireplace. She almost expected to hear Molly humming to herself in the kitchen. But why was she here? Of all the places, why was she in this house? Steeling herself, she finally turned to face Mad-Eye Moody, who had already lowered himself into a chair. “Alright then. Here we are. _Why?_ ” The word carried every flame of rage that curled inside her, heating her belly.

Mad-Eye was not as she had known him in those last days, or even months. This was the man she had studied with, less grey in his hair, fewer lines in his face. This was the man she had practically hero-worshipped as she delved into her studies of being an Auror. He returned her gaze steadily, both magical and normal eye trained directly on her.

“This is your next step, Nymphadora.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

His normal eye rolled in its socket while his magical eye never wavered. “Yell at yer mum when she gets here. It’s yer bloody name, girl.”

Her cheeks flushed. How was that even possible here? How did she have blood to turn her cheeks pink? She knew what all of this meant, even if she didn’t understand everything that was happening. “Alright, so she’s not here. Why isn’t my dad here? Why is it you?”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t have all the answers. This place is unique for everyone.”

“But WHAT HAPPENS TO ALL OF THEM?” Her voice rose to a shriek, panic shaking in her chest. So many people she loved were in Hogwarts. She’d clearly just failed to stop Bellatrix, who was dangerous enough in her own right, but Remus and the others were still fighting against not just her, but many Death Eaters who were every bit as bloodthirsty. _Oh Merlin, Remus…_ “How is this bloody fair?”

“Nothin’s fair,” he sighed. “Believe me, if I had any say in what happened, you would live a long, healthy life, raising that little boy of yours.”

It was as if cold fingers gripped her heart. _Teddy._ His first word would not -- could not -- be to her. His first steps would not be into her waiting arms. His first tooth lost, first skinned knee, first best friend, first relationship, first heartbreak; everything would be without her there. She had known, even as she kissed his forehead and handed him to her mother not three hours earlier, that there was a chance she would not come home to him. 

“Wonderin’ if yeh did the right thing?” Moody’s magical eye seemed to be trying to look straight through her.

“No,” she sighed, pulling out the chair next to him and dropping into it unceremoniously. “I know I did the right thing. I’d never be able to live with myself if I just sat at home and waited for everyone else to win or lose, not when I might be able to help. Teddy growing up without me is worth it if it means he never has to grow up with Voldemort and the Death Eaters out there in the world. I just wish it didn’t hurt.” And oh, did it hurt, like a hole burned straight through her soul.

“That’s why I picked yeh, y’know, to train as an Auror. Sure, yeh talked my ear off and prob’ly knocked over every Dark Detector I own” -- she snorted in spite of herself -- “but that dedication… I didn’t see that in most of the Aurors I already worked with. I’ve known some of the finest people to live in my lifetime, Nymphadora, and yer one of the best. I never met anyone more dedicated to the idea of a good world. Made me remember why I ever wanted to be an Auror, t’be honest.”

She blinked at him, stunned speechless. Moody was not often given to shows of affection, verbal or otherwise. Maybe he’d gone soft in death. He scoffed at the openly astonished expression on her face, which successfully roused her anger from earlier. “So, where to next? I’ll be buggered if I’m going to just sit in Sirius’ house for eternity.”

The magical eye performed a sickening loop in its socket as he took in the room. “Interestin’,” Moody grunted. “No options for you, then? Don’t want to go back?”

Restless, Tonks jumped back up to her feet, knocking her chair over backwards in the process. She ignored it and began to pace in front of the fireplace. “No such thing as ‘back.’ Can’t change what happened to me, and I’d be an annoying ghost. The only real choice is forward.”

“Expected that, but had to ask anyway.” This time his eye swiveled so hard that she _heard_ it. She paused in her pacing to watch him, as his jaw had gone slack in surprise. When his full attention returned to her, he nodded, although it seemed more to himself than to her. “Right then. We’ll go on, but there’s a stop we’re gonna make first. Which way were you planning to walk out of here?”

What a strange question. She hadn’t thought about it, but everything in her felt compelled to head for the front door. “Out the front, I s’pose.”

He nodded again and hefted himself back to his feet. Why hadn’t death granted him a more limber body for this meeting? It seemed ridiculous to her that he should have any difficulty moving around now. She led the way to the entryway, trying to suppress her urge to break into a sprint out of courtesy for Moody’s limp. Only when he’d finally _clunked_ his way to the end of the hall did she reach out and grab the doorknob. She half expected to see more light outside when she opened the door, similar to what had surrounded her when she’d first arrived, but it was not the vacant whiteness from before, nor was it the normal street outside Number 13 Grimmauld Place. No, she was looking at much more green than should have been present. The disorientation passed quickly; she knew this place well. She was looking at the Hogwarts grounds. And there…

There was only one thing she could think to say as the scene crashed into focus for her. “Well, dammit.”


	6. The Werewolf

White, so much white. The last color he’d seen was purple. He blinked against the white, wondering if Dolohov’s curse had somehow induced blindness. _But no, that’s not what that curse does._ The only person he knew to have survived a direct hit by that curse was Hermione, and that was only because Dolohov was unable to say the incantation. No, nothing had impeded Dolohov this time, which most certainly meant…

“Well then,” he sighed, pushing himself up into a sitting position from his original awkward sprawl on the… ground? He hesitated to think of it as such. It couldn’t be anything, really. His fingers roamed over the surface, trying to identify what he was touching. Carpet. He was touching carpet. The absurdity of it surged inside him, releasing itself as a choked, hysterical cackle that didn’t sound like his own voice. _Somebody carpeted the astral bloody plane._ A few more strangled laughs broke out.

Next to him, a tattered armchair shifted into view. The whole thing was so ripped apart that he couldn’t tell what color it had originally been. Mostly he could only see the stuffing, yellowed with age and bursting out all over the chair. Over one arm of the chair hung his professor robes. He didn’t question this, any more than he questioned his apparent nudity, but the notion of sitting naked on the astral plane’s carpeting seemed very rude.

He’d only just finished pulling on his robes when he realized where he was. Visibility was clearing more every second, but it was the smell that alerted him. He would know the scent of this place anywhere. After all, he’d spent quite a lot of his formative school years locked away in here. This was the Shrieking Shack.

Out of nowhere, something barreled out of what he knew to be the bedroom and slammed into his ankle with a yelp. He jumped and stared down at the creature now gazing back up at him, wagging its tail and panting, tongue lolling out one side of its mouth. His immediate thought was that it was a puppy, but no, it didn’t look quite right. He’d only seen them a few times before, and never for long, but he was reasonably sure this was a werewolf cub. 

“Wow, that’s adorable.”

He whirled at the voice. Although it had lost some of the gravelliness it had gained in Azkaban, Sirius’ voice was unmistakable. The young man standing in front of the tunnel entrance grinned at him, hair falling lazily over his eyes. This was Sirius as he’d known him before, the man he’d fought next to in the first wizarding war. That face had not yet seen the horrors of life with dementors. “Padfoot,” he gasped. Even just seeing that face made him feel younger himself.

Sirius stepped further into the room, hands in his pockets and looking more relaxed than he had in years. The grin never left his face. “I’d say ‘hello, Moony’ except I’m pretty sure _that’s_ actually Moony.” Sirius tipped his head towards the werewolf cub, which was eagerly looking back and forth between the two of them. “I always knew you were soft and fluffy inside, Remus.”

Remus frowned down at the cub. It had practically flipped its head over backwards to look up at him again. “It’s almost insulting,” he commented, resisting the urge to reach down and stroke the soft fluff of its fur. “My werewolf side was a murderous monster. It has no right to look so cute in death.”

Sirius clearly had no reservations about interacting with his friend’s dead curse. Dropping to one knee and opening his arms, he nearly toppled over backward when the cub launched itself into his embrace, frantically licking his chin. Remus took one large step forward and grabbed it by the scruff of the neck to lift it into his own arms. “That’s quite enough.” It wiggled in his grasp and tried to lick his cheek, but Remus determinedly blocked it with a palm. 

“Forward little bugger,” Sirius laughed, standing upright again and wiping his chin with a sleeve. “You could have learned a few lessons from him. Look how long it took you to actually get together with Tonks, when you could have just let him lick her chin and get it over with.”

Reality struck upon hearing his wife’s name. His family would have to move on without him. He’d known the risks, of course, when he’d thrown himself into battle. Everyone did. Not a soul who fought alongside him in Hogwarts didn’t understand that they may not make it home to their loved ones. He had accepted that chance when he answered the summons. After all, not only was it a dangerous situation for even a seasoned duelist, but he was no longer a young man, and he’d spent far more time recently working on defense than offense. At least he was reasonably confident that his family would be safe behind the protective wards he’d spent the last many months building and perfecting. Even if this battle was not won -- although he hoped beyond hope that it would be -- they would live to take on whatever their next step was.

A hand landed on his shoulder and offered a gentle squeeze. He hadn’t even noticed Sirius approach him. More annoyingly, he hadn’t noticed that while he was lost in thought, he’d been absently scratching the cub’s ears. It seemed quite pleased with the situation.

“Are we going to win?” he asked quietly, his eyes still on the cub. “Will this all mean something?”

Sirius’ hand never left his shoulder. “Even if we don’t win, it meant something. But for what it’s worth, I think we will. I have faith in Harry.”

“As do I.” He turned to his friend again, rolling his eyes a little as the cub scrambled out of his grasp and back into Sirius’ arms. “I just wish I could see it happen.”

“Well, you do have the option to go back. That’s part of why we’re here, so you have the chance to make that decision.”

Remus shook his head. “I was already not quite human in that world for most of my life. This shack alone is a reminder of that. I don’t need to go back as something else that isn’t human. Besides, I was worried enough about my son growing up with a werewolf for a father and all of the stigma that came with it. He certainly doesn’t need a ghost instead.”

A corner of his friend’s mouth quirked upward. “I never would have pictured you as a father, but I’m glad there’s some piece of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks running around out there in the world.”

He chuckled and unconsciously turned towards the tunnel that would normally lead back to the Whomping Willow. Something was pulling him in that direction, an instinct he couldn’t name. “He’s already able to change his hair. Dora is going to have a beastly time raising him.”

For the first time since he’d arrived, Sirius let his smile fade entirely. He leaned forward to let the cub back down to the ground, dusting off his robes as he stood upright again. “Er, we’re going to make a quick stop before moving on. Were you headed through the tunnel?”

Confused by the change in his friend’s demeanor, he nodded. “I was, yes.”

Sirius gestured toward the exit. “After you.”

They proceeded through the tunnel in silence. Remus would have thought that death might shorten the tunnel, just to be polite, but that was clearly not the case. Hell, he was even sweating by the time they reached the Whomping Willow. Fortunately, the tree remained still as they exited, granting him at least one favor in death.

He had only just stepped out into the glaring sunlight when he heard “Well, dammit.”

The werewolf cub bounded past him -- he hadn’t even heard it with them in the tunnel -- to jump eagerly around the shins of his wife, who was staring at him in absolute shock. His own jaw dropped. “Dora? But why are you…?” She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be home with Teddy. _She was supposed to be home with Teddy._ The words kept repeating in his mind helplessly.

“Dammit!” she repeated, her eyes bright with tears. She shot a glare at Mad-Eye Moody, who stood just off to the side, leaning on his cane. “And you knew!” His only response was an apologetic shrug, his magical eye rolling to look at both Remus and Sirius. For his part, Sirius stayed back, hands stuffed again in his pockets as he seemed to be trying to look at anything but the two of them.

Remus started forward, but it was Tonks who closed the gap, throwing her arms around his neck even as she continued to mutter “dammit” mutinously. “You couldn’t stay home, could you?” he whispered into her hair.

“Of course not,” she grumbled with her face still buried against his chest. “I wasn’t just going to sit around while everyone risked their lives. While you risked your life.”

“I was foolish to expect it.” He kissed her forehead and stepped back, taking in every beautiful detail of her face. “I should have known better. I’m sorry for even asking it of you.”

A small smile broke through the tears on her cheeks. “To be fair, you were a bit stressed.”

He returned the smile. “Just a bit.”

“Teddy will be ok, won’t he?” Her hands found his, gripping them like they were the last thing holding her to the ground. “He’ll be ok without us?”

“I think he’ll be surrounded by a lot of love. Just think of how much he’ll be able to tell us when we finally meet him here.”

“He’d better be extremely old, with a pink beard.”

He laughed and hugged her again. Even here, his wife made him somehow feel young again. She always had. “Well, where to now?”

She twisted in his embrace to look. “I think we’re headed to the front gates. Can’t you feel it?”

Now that the words were spoken, he could. The same instinct that had driven him to the tunnel out of the Shrieking Shack now pulled him towards the gates to Hogsmeade. Hand in hand, they began the walk, Moody and Sirius trailing behind them while the cub ran large circles around the group. Tonks tilted her head to look at it as they walked. “Is that…?”

“Embarrassing, is what it is.”

She bumped him amicably with her shoulder as they reached the gates, somehow much faster than the distance should have allowed. “I think it’s cute.”

The last thing Remus felt before stepping through the gate was the helpless smile on his face as he looked at his wife once more.


	7. The Half-Blood Prince

As someone who prided himself on his skills of observation, it was disorienting to experience a complete absence of _everything_. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to smell. He was accustomed to always being on alert, paying attention to every minute detail around him in case he needed to react. Of course, this absence was something to pay attention to, in its own way. He blinked a few times, in case that might bring anything into view, but when it didn’t, he simply closed his eyes again. There was no point, nothing to look at. What would a dead man need to see, anyway?

Yes, he certainly knew he was dead. The disorientation only barely slowed this realization for him. It was difficult to forget the raw terror of the snake’s cage enveloping him, a mere second after realizing Voldemort’s intentions. The pain, the blood, it all paled in comparison to his panic that he had failed in his mission of getting Potter to where he needed to be. 

But he hadn’t failed. Potter, who had always been underfoot precisely whenever he didn’t want him there, had actually shown up at the correct moment. He’d never been one to believe in fate or in the notion that some higher power was directing events -- Dumbledore had been quite enough of a higher power for one person to tolerate -- but that timing had been almost too perfect to dismiss as coincidence. _Don’t get whimsical now. The dolt probably just failed at Occlumency and came straight to where he knew the danger to be, as he always has._ Ah yes, that annoyance hadn’t faded in death. It was good to know that some things remained constant.

A breeze washed over him, raising goosebumps on his bare skin. The distinct sound of plant life rustling around him convinced him to finally open his eyes again. Tall grass waved above his face, partially obscuring his view to the trees above. He was sprawled in the only patch of sun peeking through the canopy of leaves. In the distance, he could hear the gentle burble of running water. Propping himself up onto his elbows, he scanned his surroundings, mildly amused that he was nude in the woods. At least nobody was around to notice.

As if his thoughts summoned them, his customary black robes appeared in a neat, folded pile next to him, despite definitely not being there when he’d looked a moment before. He snatched them up with one hand while using his other to push himself the rest of the way to his feet. The cloth fluttered around him once he’d pulled on the robes and rotated in place, trying to recall where he’d seen these woods before. The clearing was familiar, but the only one he could think of had been much larger. _No, it wasn’t larger. You were just much smaller._

“Hey, Severus.”

Her voice wasn’t a surprise, not really. Not here. Who else would be waiting in these woods, where they had hidden away as children, discussing the wizarding world? All the same, it felt like someone seized his heart in a vice grip. He turned slowly, afraid of what he would find in her face. 

Standing in the very middle of the clearing, looking like she had graduated from Hogwarts only the day before, was Lily Potter. And she was smiling at him.

“Lily.” His voice was barely a whisper. The years between them now were painfully obvious. She would not have looked out of place in his classroom. Sunlight shone off her auburn hair, framing her face with waves of fire. 

“You’ve grown up,” she observed, stepping forward to study his face better in the light. “You never cut your hair, though.” Her tone was light, teasing. How many times had she poked fun at him about his hair when they were young?

“I like it long.” Even as he attempted to keep his voice indignant, he could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He felt thirteen years old again, fending off her advances when she’d actually dared to bring a pair of scissors when she met with him. Even then, he’d mostly been faking his annoyance. He suspected he would have let her chop off every last strand if she’d pressed him enough. “It’s good to see you. I’m… surprised you’re here, honestly.”

She planted both hands on her hips and looked up at him, one eyebrow quirked. _Was she always this short?_ “Where else would I be? After everything you’ve done for Harry, of course I was going to be here.”

There was no point in lying to her here. “I didn’t do it for him.” While he had never felt shame when saying those words to Dumbledore, he felt it now, gazing down into the eyes of the young woman who had literally sacrificed herself for the boy he had only grudgingly helped. “It was never for him.”

Well, he hadn’t expected her to roll her eyes. “Oh, I know. You made it as difficult as possible for him the entire way. The point is you did it. The most stubborn boy I’ve ever met, who would rather let his foot burn than cast _‘Aguamenti’_ and admit that he dropped some of my cauldron embers on himself” -- a sharp bark of a laugh escaped him -- “and still, you did what you could. Severus, so many people helped my son because they loved him or looked up to him and what he represented. You helped him in spite of hating him. I cannot imagine anything that is more you.”

Hadn’t he always wanted recognition for the work he’d put in, the danger he consistently put himself through? When he’d taunted Black, when he’d screamed at the Potter boy’s sheer _nerve_ of calling him a coward; no small part of that had been born out of the bone-deep frustration that he had done so bloody much and everyone still looked down on him, thought they were better than him. So why did he feel so uncomfortable at finally receiving that recognition? Not wanting to see her expression when he spoke again, he feigned interest in a particularly massive violet flower blooming on a branch near his face. “It was all for you, to make up for everything I had done. I drove you away because I was a foolish teenage boy with too much pride; I put your family in danger in the first place. Your son would never have needed my protection if I had been a better man _before_ you died.”

Her fingers wrapped gently around the taut muscles in his forearm. “I think you’re forgetting how good James and I were at getting under Voldemort’s skin. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened exactly as it did if you had been different, but we already had a traitor as a friend. Peter would have sold us out eventually. There isn’t much use wondering how everything _could_ have gone. All we can work with is what happened.”

He turned to face her again, finally allowing himself to feel the elation that had been threatening ever since he first heard her voice. It had been over half his lifetime since he had been able to experience the pleasure of a shared moment with his best friend. It was not quite how he’d expected it to feel, after years spent loving her in her absence. As a teenager and young man, he’d attributed his feelings to the only kind of love he knew to exist between two people, and never reexamined those feelings as he grew older after her death. But looking at her now... Lily had always represented a brightness that did not exist in his own life. He did not know how to name the warmth inside him at the simple joy of seeing her smile at him. It was love, of that he had no doubt, but he was no longer sure how to further categorize it. 

“You’re wise enough at your age,” he mused, his smile finally presenting itself fully. “You’d be a force to be reckoned with if you’d had the chance to grow up.”

She laughed and released his arm, flicking a finger against a lock of his hair that had fallen forward. “I’d have convinced you to cut this off, at least.”

“I never said you’d be a _good_ force to be reckoned with.” They both laughed, the sound ringing through the trees around them. He gazed fondly around at perhaps the only location in the world that held nothing but good memories for him. “Whatever this is, I’m glad it’s in the woods with you, and not at Hogwarts with Dumbledore. I’m almost surprised he didn’t find a way to make that happen. It would be like him.”

“That angry with him?”

One of his shoulders shrugged feebly, as though warding off a fly. “Yes and no. I understand why he did what he did. Convincing me to work with him, manipulating so many lives, giving me the task of actually killing him. Everything was to protect the world. It doesn’t make me any happier about it all, but you can’t spend years with Dumbledore without both respecting and hating him. That’s who he is. He’s the closest thing to a friend I’ve had for a long time. I still would have punched him if he were waiting here for me.”

Her laughter filled the hole in his heart he’d long forgotten was there. “Such crude violence, Severus.”

“Well I don’t have my wand here, you see.”

It was a strange thing that the sounds of the river suddenly felt so much closer as they laughed. Everything inside of him was drawn towards the sound, yearning to go to the water. They had only ever gone there a handful of times; it was often overrun with mosquitoes during the summer. Somehow he didn’t think that would be the case now.

“I don’t think I need to ask if you want to go back.” Lily pulled her hair over one shoulder, idly braiding it as she took in the clearing. She had only started doing that in the last year of their friendship; it was a habit she’d picked up from Mary Macdonald. The sharp stab of nostalgia was nearly physical for him.

“Emphatically no. There’s nothing for me back there.” Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure what might be next, either. It would be just his luck if he had to spend eternity as a professor.

She turned to him again, her perusal of their surroundings completed. “Well then, where to next? You’re the only one who knows how to move forward from here.”

“The river.” The words were out before he could think to prevent them. Yes, he knew the river was the next stop. But he didn’t want to go. He wanted to spend forever in this clearing. And yet… perhaps whatever was coming next would let him remain connected to her. Besides, Lily certainly wasn’t going to stay here with him. Considering the information he had passed to Harry Potter in his final moments, she would soon be greeting her son.

Together, they picked their way through the brush and crunched over fallen branches and leaves, making rather a lot of noise as they went, particularly Severus, who was managing the entire process in bare feet. Above it all, however, he could hear the water, drawing him closer. When they broke through the treeline and found themselves on the bank, he noted an addition to the scene that had certainly not been there when they were children; a beautiful arched stone bridge crossed the river, leading to the opposite, misty bank. He knew with certainty that they needed to cross it. Just before his toes reached the stone, he came to a halt, turning one last time to look down at Lily. She paused next to him, looking up in confusion, until the realization dawned in her eyes.

“Are you finally going to let me?”

He didn’t reply, merely spread his arms slightly in invitation. She needed no more encouragement. Tiny though she was, the enthusiasm and strength in her hug was fierce as she latched herself onto his torso, leaving him to wrap his arms around her shoulders. Severus had never particularly liked being touched and thought that hugs were an absurd way to demonstrate affection, but if this was his last chance, there was no one else he would rather share that moment with. And with his last seconds of physical form, he would let her know that he cared in the language that she understood. Indeed, when they both stepped back, she was beaming at him. “You really have changed, Severus.”

He held out a hand to her, smiling down at her one more time as she grasped it. “It was never a choice.”

Finally, at the side of his friend once more and feeling light in a way that he’d never truly known in life, he walked across the bridge.


End file.
